Forgive Me Father
by BenAddiction
Summary: This is a sequel to my story Dust to Dust. Ten years have passed, family can be hard sometimes, even those not related by blood. Rated T to be safe. Probably be two chapters. Please review (please be kind). Final chapter. this story is now complete.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: A two parter sequel to Dust to Dust which is a sequel to Do You Renounce Evil (maybe worth reading those before this one, if you do, and you enjoy them, please leave a review - thank you ;D). This will probably be the last one in this sequence as I can't see this storyline going any further. Please review and please be kind. Thank you :-)

Still don't own, wish I did ;-P

Chapter One.

Sherlock could hear the yelling as soon as he opened the door to 221. Closing the door quietly he looked at the staircase in front of him, a hint of trepidation in his gaze. Slowly he walked up towards flat B, he paused for a moment before pushing open the door and entering his home. Turning the corner he stood at the entrance to the small kitchen, watching the two inhabitants shout across the table which was covered in the remnants of his most recent experiment.

'Jamie, I have told you until I am blue in the face, you are not getting a tattoo!' John shouted at his son, his face turning a rather violent shade of crimson. 'You are fifteen years old, you're still a child and I am your father, and you will do as you are told. Is that clear?!

'I HATE YOU!' screamed Jamie, ' you never let me do anything! You always treat me like a little kid! It's not fair. I wish you were dead!'

Jamie then turned around, and barging his way past Sherlock, he ran through the living room, and up the stairs to his room, the sound of his door slamming shut echoing through the now silent flat.

Sherlock turned back to his flatmate, having watched Jamie's journey through the flat, to see all the colour drain from John's face at his son's final words.

'John ... I ... ' Sherlock began to speak but was immediately cut off when John pushed past Sherlock and made his way out of the flat, down the stairs to the street below, muttering that he needed some air.

Sherlock walked over to the window to watch as John walked across the road, and began making his way along Baker Street. Sherlock sighed as his keen eyes took in John's military baring (an unconscious reaction to the stress and upset John was feeling), his back ramrod straight, his walking style was more reminiscent of a march across a parade ground than a stroll around town. Lowering his forehead to the window, Sherlock groaned as he thought through his options.

Option one: Ignore the increasing number of arguments between John and Jamie Watson, not easy as they were becoming ever more frequent as Jamie grew older.

Option two: Speak to either one or both of them to try and resolve the issue, hardly ideal as emotions were really not Sherlock's area.

Option three: convince someone else to talk to them, Mycroft for instance. Sherlock gave his head a violent shake as he attempted to rid his his brain of that ridiculous thought.

Realistically, that left him with only one option. Sherlock groaned again as he realised that he was going to have to actually talk to either his flatmate or his flatmate's son. Deciding that it would be easier to get it over and done with, he pulled himself reluctantly from the window and made his way wearily towards the stairs leading to his Godson's room.

A/N: Hopefully chapter two coming soon as I have already started it!


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: This is the final chapter of this story, and as I said, I think this is the final part of my John, Sherlock and Jamie stories (unless I get a really good idea for more). I hope you have enjoyed reading them as much as I have enjoyed writing them. If you have enjoyed them, send me a review and let me know :-)

I hope you don't think Sherlock is too OOC in this, I do believe that in knowing John Watson for so many years, he must have learnt something!

Enjoy!

Chapter Two

Sherlock took the stairs up to his Godson's room at an extremely slow pace. Eventually however, he reached the top and stood looking at the bedroom door. Raising his hand he rapped his knuckles sharply against the wooden panel.

'Go away!' Jamie's voice was muffled slightly.

'Jamie, it's Sherlock, may I come in please?' Sherlock asked.

'No! Leave me alone, I don't want to see anyone.' Jamie replied, heaving a deep shuddering breath as he spoke. It wasn't difficult for Sherlock to deduce that his best friend's son was close to tears.

'Very well, we'll just have to have this conversation through your bedroom door, unless of course, you wish to start behaving like the adult you obviously believe you are.' answered Sherlock.

'Go away! Leave me alone!' Jamie shouted, determined to get his point across.

'That is not going to happen, Jamie. I can, and will, stay here all night if necessary. The criminals of London are being particularly boring today, and it's either this or shoot the wall, and your father has taken his gun. So I am very much afraid you're stuck with me. So if you will give a moment to get a chair from your father's room, then we may begin.' Sherlock replied, as he walked across the hallway to John's room and brought out a hard backed wooden chair, similar to those found in school classrooms the length and breadth of the country. Placing it next to his Godson's bedroom door, he sat down and waited.

Several minutes passed, during which Sherlock inspected the nails of both hands, and removed microscopic pieces of lint and fluff from both the sleeves of his jacket and his trousers. Eventually, just as he was about to enter his mind palace to do a little overdue spring cleaning, the bedroom door opened a little to reveal a blonde teenage boy peering through the crack. Jamie grimaced as he saw his Godfather sitting outside his room.

'Why won't you leave me alone?' he grumbled, a scowl marring his young face.

'This state of affairs has gone on too long. It cannot be allowed to continue.' Sherlock replied calmly.

'What do you care! You don't care, all you care about is the work!'

'You're right, of course. I do care about the work, but I've learnt over the years, mostly from your father, that friends are important too. Your father is my best friend and therefore important which means, by extension, that as his son, and my Godson, you are also important. The constant arguments between the two of you are therefore distracting me from the work, which as I previously stated cannot be allowed to continue.' answered Sherlock.

Jamie opened the door wider, then turned and walked back to the chair next to the desk in his room. Taking a seat, he looked across at Sherlock.

'I suppose you'd better come in then.' Jamie said. Sherlock stood up and crossed the threshold to the room, pulling the chair with him and resumed his seat.

'So do I have to put up with you telling me what to do as well?' groaned Jamie, 'it's not fair you know. I'm not a kid any more!'

'Though at fifteen, not yet an adult, at least legally.' stated Sherlock, 'though if you wish to be treated as an adult you may try acting like one occasionally, and yes, I do understand the irony of that statement.' Sherlock added when he saw the smirk on Jamie's face. 'Fortunately for me, we are not discussing my behaviour.'

The smirk fell from Jamie's face as he looked down at the floor. 'I'm sorry uncle Sherlock.' Jamie's voice was quiet as he apologised.

'I don't think I'm the person you should be apologising to, do you? You said some pretty horrid things to John, and I think he's been hurt enough for one lifetime. Even I know that telling your widowed father that you wish he was dead is a bit not good.' Sherlock replied.

Jamie raised his head and looked across at his Godfather in amazement, surprised to be lectured on what is and isn't good by the self-proclaimed sociopath.

Seeing the boy's reaction, Sherlock's mouth twisted slightly into a grimace before he continued, 'Like I said earlier, I've learnt a few things over the years, but if you ever tell anyone I said any of this, I will deny it completely. Do you understand me?'

'Yes, uncle Sherlock.' Jamie answered as he lowered his head again in sorrow.

'So don't you think you should go and apologise to your father?' asked Sherlock. 'You know that he only gets upset with you because he doesn't want you to do something foolish that you will regret later in life.'

'It's just a tattoo. What's so terrible about a tattoo?' inquired Jamie, a whining tone entering his voice.

'Firstly, it is illegal, you are fifteen, and even you know that the law requires you to be eighteen to have a tattoo. No self respecting tattooist would ever think of marking someone as young as you. Or were you going to go to some unlicensed backstreet tattoo parlour and have it done by someone with no respect for the law, someone who in all probability uses dirty needles, because I refuse to believe that you would be that stupid. Please tell me I'm not wrong! Secondly, it is a permanent mark to your body, it will not wash off in a couple of days. What happens in a few years when you decide that you don't want it anymore? Hmm? What happens then Jamie?' asked Sherlock, his tone betraying his fear as he thought of all the bad things that could happen to his best friend's only son. John's only living link to his dead wife.

'I wouldn't go to an unlicensed tattooist uncle Locky, I promise I wouldn't. I am sorry, truly!' replied Jamie, his unshed tears clogging his throat and thickening his voice, as he glanced up at his Godfather, his eyes shining with moisture.

'Uncle Locky, you haven't called me that in a long time.' Sherlock sighed, his gaze taking in his young Godson. 'Go and talk to your dad Jamie, he'll be at your mum's grave. Mycroft, the interfering git, will have a car outside waiting to take you.'

With that he stood up, picked up the chair, returned it to John's room, and walked downstairs. Jamie followed a short time later, and left the flat.

Watching from the window, Sherlock saw his Godson climb into one of Mycroft's cars before it was driven away towards the cemetery. Sherlock finally moved away after the car turned off Baker Street and was out of sight. Picking up his violin, he placed it on his shoulder and began playing a tune of his own composition. The soft, haunting melody filled the flat as he waited for the return of the Watson family to their home.


End file.
